


Untitled, signed by your tongue

by lesbianquill



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Polyamory, Threesome - F/F/F, and yet... i provide, the ship that no-one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianquill/pseuds/lesbianquill
Summary: Even on their anniversary, Bernie forgets— and yet, she knows that she will remember today for a very long time.





	Untitled, signed by your tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MatildaSwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/gifts).



> For Matilda, my partner in crime. May we grip onto this ot3 until it is prised out of our cold dead hands.

It’s their anniversary.

Or rather, that’s what the calendar says, outlined in a ring of red that glares at Bernie from its place on the fridge. They’d already talked about it, said that it didn’t really matter, but she can’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of inadequacy at her own forgetfulness.

Meanwhile, Colette starts the day with a kiss— and rather predictably—a bottle of Shiraz for Serena. Bernie gains a packet of cigarettes, and spends most of her morning pulling strings last-minute to get Serena the day off (‘ _because you deserve it_ ’) and exchanging smoke-filled kisses with Colette (‘ _because I love you’_ ).

The rest of the day Bernie spends worrying about the quality of her ‘gifts’, because she’s pretty sure that sharing her own present with Colette doesn’t _really_ count, no matter how many times Colette tells her that it’s enough— that her company is enough. As for Serena, she knows she’ll be grateful for the time alone, and even moreso for the stack of paperwork that now stands finished on the edge of her desk.

The hastily purchased bouquet of flowers tucked under Bernie’s arm on the way home— an afterthought, because _that’s just what lovers do, isn’t it?_ — doesn’t even _begin_ to compare to what Serena has spent her day preparing.

They’re barely through the door when Bernie stops still in the middle of the hallway. Colette almost walks straight into the back of her. Bernie is rooted to the spot, stood still in shocked silence as her eyes fall across the figure in front of them. The bouquet slips from the crook of her elbow. Falls to the floor with the crunch of cellophane. She doesn’t notice.

Then, as Colette peers over Bernie’s shoulder, everything falls into place.

It’s Serena— she’s stood in the doorway to the living room, silk robe slightly parted to reveal a hint of lace underneath. The shoes that Guy Self had once called _ridiculous_ never looked so good on her, until now— a perfect embellishment to stocking-clad legs that make her two onlookers rather weak at the knees.

Crimson painted lips curl into a sly smile. Then comes the quirk of an eyebrow, the teasing pull at the knot at her waist. They can see the swell of her breast, just about covered by the red floral lace of her bralette; can peek at the matching underwear, at the garter belt that ties it all together. Bernie swallows thickly. Parts her lips to speak, only to find the words lost in her throat.

“Aren’t you going to come and unwrap your present?” Serena asks coyly, before stalking off to the sofa.

Bernie turns. Stares at Colette, open mouthed, as she lets her bag hit the ground, before swiftly taking her hand and dragging them both after this _thing_ — this _siren—_ that has taken hold of their partner. Colette doesn’t even begin to argue, just drops her own bag at the door and lets herself be guided over to where Serena has sat herself down.

Bernie sinks to her knees almost immediately. Her hands travel in wonder over Serena’s crossed legs, unfurls them, parks herself between parted thighs. It’s from there that she starts her ascent; begins at her ankle with a kiss, a slow exploration of lips and hands. She delivers a nip of teeth to the clothed flesh of Serena’s calf, who whimpers against Colette’s mouth as the second pair of hands tug apart the robe and push it from her shoulders.

Bernie stares intently from her place on the floor. Watches Colette entwine her fingers in Serena’s cropped hair as her other hand paws at her breast, drawing a moan from one pair of lipstick-stained lips to another. Colette rolls a lace covered nipple under her thumb. Kisses her way over to Serena’s ear.

“ _Gorgeous,_ ” Colette whispers, tugs on Serena’s earlobe with her teeth, and chuckles at the cry it earns her.

Bernie’s cheeks are red by the time she reaches Serena’s knee.

“What do you think, Bernie?” Colette asks, punctuated with kisses across Serena’s jaw, down the slope of her neck, resting in her collarbone with a smile.

“Beautiful,” Bernie says weakly, hiding her blushes against the inside of Serena’s thigh. _Beautiful_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Doesn’t even touch down on this version of Serena— all dressed up but coming apart at the seams, flushed and heavily breathing— who is nothing short of a complete marvel. “ _Perfect._ ”

Colette toys at the suspender clips, lets her fingertips dance at the pale thighs beneath her until Serena squirms, pleading with dark eyes. She pops one clasp open, then the next, before she reaches down to unclip the remaining two at the back.

The shoes are the next to go— carefully removed by Bernie with a kiss to the arch of each stockinged foot— shortly followed by the slow peel of sheer nylon down her thigh, over her knee, across her calf. They’re soon stripped off and discarded somewhere on the floor by Bernie’s side, leaving her to stroke her way back up newly exposed skin. The slightest touch to the back of Serena’s knee has her yelping in surprise, but then Colette is kissing her again, swallowing her cries and rendering her breathless as she slips a hand between her legs.

When Colette finally pulls away, it’s with a grin, because each stroke of her fingers draws a new, delightful noise from between Serena’s parted lips. Bernie is transfixed by them. By Colette, who moves to teasingly snap at the waistband of her underwear, and Serena, tipping her head back against the sofa with a whimper, who ruts into the empty air in response. She’s getting desperate now, Bernie notices, as she leans her cheek against Serena’s now-shaking thigh.

_Well_. There was something she could definitely do about that.

Bernie starts with a kiss, then another, a trail upwards to meet that crux between her legs so wonderfully damp with arousal. She can smell it— how much Serena wants them both, how much she _needs_ them— breathes it in, hums approvingly as she leans in to press a kiss straight to her core. Serena releases a moan, low and long and wanting, and reaches for Colette’s hand, entwining their fingers as her eyelids finally flutter shut, as she finally gives in.

“Do you want Bernie to touch you?” Colette murmurs against her neck.

“ _Yes,”_   Serena says, mouth dry, voice rasping.

“Do you want her to _taste_ you?”

There it is, the choked sob that falls from Serena’s lips, the kind that dissolves into a gasp as soon as Bernie slips the fabric from her skin.

“ _God, yes._ ”

Bernie obeys. Laps a long line straight up Serena’s center, lets the taste explode on her tongue. It’s _so good,_  the best gift she could have been given, and she gets to share it all— which, in a way, is a gift in itself. Her gaze drifts up to catch Colette staring straight back at her, eyes glittering with hunger, and they both take a moment to grin at their sheer luck. They get to partake in Serena together, to get their fill and to give it straight back. It’s incredible— no, it’s more than that, it’s a blessing.

So she dives back in, drives her tongue against hot, wet flesh until Serena is panting, babbling incoherent nonsense as Colette follows Bernie’s lead and mouths at her chest. Serena writhes underneath them, cants her hips to meet Bernie’s tongue, praises just about every deity under the sun. Under this sea of hands and lips, it’s hard to tell where Bernie ends and Colette begins— only that they’re a team, a fusion of their expert touches, a product of their medical hands.

If Serena doesn’t feel undoubtedly loved, she must be mad, because Bernie has never loved so much, never _been_ loved so much— especially not by two women at once. Not like this. Never like this. In fact, she doubts she’ll ever feel this wanted again. It might be Serena getting off, but it’s still their present— they still get the privilege of getting to see her like this. Of undressing her, touching her, drinking her in.

And god, does Bernie drink. Until Serena is lost to her own arousal, tugging hard with the hand she tangles in Bernie’s curls. Until she pulls Colette back upwards from her breast to kiss her desperately. Until she is coming— legs trembling, back arching, hands grasping.

Bernie doesn’t stop until she’s satisfied, and even then it’s with a parting kiss to sensitive flesh, to which Serena whimpers quietly. She cups Bernie’s cheek. Smiles brighter than she’s ever seen, all soft and doting. Beckons her upwards to join them nestled on the sofa cushions.

She’s barely made it to her feet before Colette is pulling her straight back in. She greets her with an insistent kiss, all tongues and tasting each other, sharing Serena between bruised lips, smeared with lipstick and the fruits of Bernie’s labour. Then she turns to kiss Serena softly, smiling her own thankful smile against her skin.

“Happy anniversary,” Bernie whispers, reaching out to squeeze Colette’s hand as she nestles between the two of them.

“Happy anniversary,” they both echo.

Bernie can’t speak for anyone else, but here— in the space between the two people she loves the most— she’s happier than she’s ever been.


End file.
